The Vagrant and the City. Peter Newman

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       The Vagrant and the City

      The man wakes before the dawn, his body still, his eyes restless. He has been many things: a squire, a vagrant, the bearer of Gamma’s sword, and now he is none of them. He has surpassed the role of squire, found a home, and his daughter, Vesper, bears the Malice more comfortably than he ever did.

      For a while, she and the other senior people of the Shining City debated how best to use him and what he should be called:

      The Knight Commander wants to put him back in the field, winning glory for the Empire of the Winged Eye. The Knight Commander does not mention that he finds the man difficult and intimidating, merely noting that such experience of the wider world is best put to use somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away.

      Obeisance wishes to make the man into a symbol, an inspiration for the citizens of the Shining City. An icon herself, and voice of The Seven, she accepts that this will take time, a lot of work, and more than a little surgical intervention. But if the man must be broken a little first before reforging, she reasons, it is a small price to pay.

      Vesper says he should be given space to find his own role within the Empire. She says that she needs him around, but not exactly where. That she needs his help, but only in general terms.

      Vesper has good intentions. The others listen to her and agree, assuming that, in this matter, she knows best.

      This is a mistake.

      They call him their champion, in honour of his past deeds. But he does not look like one, and little pride manifests in his gait and posture.

      Vesper’s time and attention is absorbed in the business of keeping the Empire afloat whilst, fundamentally, trying to change it. Soon, she is submerged in her own tasks, too busy to notice her father drifting about, aimless, useless …

      He sees less and less of Vesper. Her visits to the farm are sporadic and all too brief in duration, a mirror for the time he spends in the Shining City. A month becomes two, becomes six, a year. A year becomes five, each morning the same: waking before the dawn, restless.

      He gets up with whichever of the suns is first to rise and wanders among the nearby hills, watched by scores of goats, who wearily blink at the man, unconvinced of the need to hurry.

      Always, the morning circuit ends at the smaller building next to the main house, and an encounter with the goat. She is old now but makes up for her lack of energy with bile and persistence.

      On this morning, it pays off. The man’s amber eyes are preoccupied, and he does not remove his hand fast enough.

      Jaws, toothless, clamp around a finger, the bony gums shockingly hard. With a start, the man yanks his hand free, shaking it vigorously before sucking at the wound.

      He glares at the goat.

      The goat glares back, but only briefly. Satisfied that her work is done, she settles to sleep and happy dreams.

      The man returns to the house, his mood set for the day.

      Voices from the kitchen make him pause. They belong to the strays he and his daughter once found and brought here and made family; Harm, his companion, and Jem, hers.